


Murphy's Law

by onceinabluemoon13



Series: What Can Go Wrong.... [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4703555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceinabluemoon13/pseuds/onceinabluemoon13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wants everything to be perfect for Molly's birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murphy's Law

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afteriwake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/gifts).



> This is for the always wonderful afteriwake! She gifted me a work a few days ago, and asked me to write this in return. I had a lot of fun with it, so please review and let me know what you think!

Today was Molly Hooper’s birthday, and everything was going to be perfect. Sherlock Holmes would make sure of it.

 _Especially_ after the fiasco of her last birthday. (Molly’s first as his significant other, it had consisted of a bungled kidnapping attempt, two misguided jewel thieves, and a declaration of love from an agitated consulting detective.)

No, that would definitely not be happening again. ( _Ever_ , if Sherlock had anything to say about it.)

This year would make up for last.

Donning his customary black trousers and tight, aubergine shirt (Molly was _very_ vocal about how much she liked him in it), he scrutinized his appearance in the mirror. Ruffling his hair (Molly loved that, too), he grabbed his Belstaff and strode out the door.

This would be one birthday Molly Hooper would never forget.

Nothing could possibly go wrong today.

XXXXX

Everything was going wrong today.

First, he had picked up Molly’s favorite sandwich and a cup of coffee from the café down the street from St. Bart’s, intent on surprising her with lunch. When he had arrived at the morgue, however, it was to find his pathologist elbows deep in the corpse of a recent homicide victim. He offered to help, but she waved him off with a gloved hand, not even sparing him (or his shirt) a glance.

As he left, promising to see her later that evening, he was bumped into by that idiot intern, _Jeffrey._ (And, if Sherlock spoke his name with derision, even in his mind palace, no one could blame him, really. The man was a _buffoon_. How Molly managed to put up with him Sherlock would never know.) Hot coffee stained his front, rolling down to contaminate his trousers as well.

Sherlock opened his mouth to give the younger man the tongue-lashing of the century, when Molly’s voice drifted through the still-open door. “Jeffrey? Is that you?” Taking a deep breath, Sherlock glared at the trembling intern and stormed off, tossing the empty coffee cup into the bin as he passed.

XXXXX

When he arrived back at Baker Street, he enlisted Mrs. Hudson’s help in saving his shirt. After several failed attempts, however, the pair gave it up as a lost cause. He selected a white shirt, instead (and silently vowed to give _Jeffrey_ a wide berth). It wasn’t Molly’s favorite, but she liked it well enough.

Sherlock spent the next several hours sifting through his emails, solving the majority and filing away the few cases that intrigued him for investigation at a later date. Glancing out the window, Sherlock realized Molly should be returning home soon.

He smiled. Molly had moved in 6 months after the start of their relationship, and the cohabitation had made him the most content he had ever been.

Hopefully, tonight would increase that happiness tenfold.

XXXXX

Two hours later, Sherlock was pacing in front of the fireplace, almost ready to call Lestrade and demand a search party, when finally, _finally_ , he heard footsteps traipsing up the stairs.

Molly plodded into the flat, hair a mess and dark circles beneath her eyes. When she saw him standing there, she offered a tired smile before plunking her bag beside the sofa and strolling into the bedroom.

Sherlock followed her, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Molly?” he called softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Everything all right?”

“Just a long day of work, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.” She turned towards him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I expected you home hours ago. I was… concerned,” he confessed to the side of her head, still uncomfortable admitting his feelings after being in a relationship for nineteen months. Sherlock began nuzzling her neck, grinning slightly when she moved her head to allow him easier access.

Molly just mumbled incoherently in reply, much too preoccupied by Sherlock’s attentions. Seeing the time on the clock beside the bed, Sherlock pulled back and placed a chaste kiss on Molly’s forehead. She grumbled at the loss of contact, but looked up at him expectantly.

“You’d best get ready, Molly. We’re going to be late.”

Molly scrunched her eyes together in confusion. “For what?”

Sherlock finally stepped back, sighing in defeat as he did so. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Forgot wha….” Her eyes widened. “Oh,” she mumbled as she ran into their closet, selecting a dress at random. Rushing into their shared bathroom, she began frantically applying makeup, ignoring her disgruntled beau.

“Yes, _oh_ ,” he muttered tersely, somewhat offended by her lapse in memory. Today was supposed to be perfect, damn it! Nothing else was going to go wrong.

XXXXX

Molly managed to get ready in record time, and the couple hurried through the door to the upscale restaurant five minutes before their reservation time. As they were escorted to their table, Sherlock began to think that this day was finally turning around. He slid into the seat beside Molly, resting his arm over her shoulders as she nestled close to him.

Yes, the day was definitely turning around.

An elegant, tuxedo-clad waiter sashayed over to their table, an insincere smile plastered on his face. “May I offer you a bottle of wine, sir? Madam?” he asked in a thin, nasally voice that reminded Sherlock uncomfortably of his university literature professor.

Barely glancing at the man (Molly’s fingers were drawing circles on his knee), he ordered Molly’s favorite Chardonnay and closed his hand over hers. She smirked at him deviously but stalled her movements.

The man returned with their wine and watched as they tasted it. Molly hummed in pleasure as the liquid trickled down her throat. Swallowing his own gulp, the consulting detective nodded at the waiter, who promptly filled both of their glasses.

Setting the bottle on the table in front of Sherlock, he gazed down at them, a small notebook pulled from seemingly nowhere. (The man would be a wonderful pickpocket, should he ever decide to pursue a more lucrative occupation.)

Molly browsed the menu a moment longer before meeting the server’s gaze. “I’ll have the Spaghetti Bolognese, please, with the spinach salad.” The man copied down the order and turned his attention to Sherlock, who repeated Molly’s selection distractedly. He generally found Molly’s tastes adequate, and the sneaky woman had now moved her hand farther up his thigh.

He gave her a reproving look, and she smiled at him sheepishly as she put her hand demurely back in her own lap. He cleared his throat, and gazed down at the woman who had changed his life so completely.

“Molly Hooper,” he began, brushing a finger down her cheek. “I have been planning for weeks to make this birthday special for you. You deserve only the very best the world has to offer, and I hope that, during our time together, I have shown you even half of the love and care you have shown me.”

Molly’s eyes were becoming increasingly watery, and his own were suspiciously moist as well. “For years, I never thought I could love anyone, but I love you, Dr. Molly Hooper. More than anything in the world. Happy birthday.”

She leaned forward and planted a wet kiss on his lips, causing him to lose his train of thought. They likely would have continued in that fashion for much longer, in fact, if they hadn’t been interrupted by a small cough.

They quickly disentangled themselves, Molly blushing furiously as their waiter stared at them with thinly-veiled disapproval. He hastily set down both salads before stalking off in the direction of the kitchen, probably to regale the rest of the staff with tales of the indecent guests in the corner booth.

Molly concentrated on her food, fiddling with her fork instead of looking at him. “So… you were saying?” she prompted quietly.

He stuffed a large bite into his mouth while he gathered his thoughts. He had been writing this speech for months!

“Umm… yes,” he began, drawing out the ‘s’ sound. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I confess I didn’t just bring you here tonight to celebrate your 34th birthday, Molly.” He ran a hand over his face, finding himself unbearably flustered all of a sudden.

“I also have an important….” He was extremely uncomfortable, running his nails down his arm in an attempt to scratch an itch that hadn’t been there before. He always did get uncomfortable in situations such as these. “I have an important ques….”He was finding it hard to breathe.

“Sherlock are you all right?” Molly asked, feeling his forehead anxiously. Her hands felt wonderful against his heated skin. “What did you…?” Her eyes travelled over his salad, observing something that had escaped his notice in his nervous state earlier. “There are walnuts in the salad, Sherlock! Aren’t you allergic?!”

Sherlock muttered something that vaguely resembled the word ‘yes’, but couldn’t find the strength to continue.

“Is something wrong?” The waiter had hurried over after seeing Molly’s distress.

“He’s allergic to walnuts,” she explained quickly. The man jumped into action, calling his manager over to assist.

Sherlock rested his head against Molly’s chest, content to let her stroke his hair as the paramedics were called.

XXXXX

A few hours later, Sherlock and Molly were strolling down a small street in London hand in hand.

Sherlock was still embarrassed about his oversight at the restaurant, although Molly assured him she wasn’t angry with him. Concerned, certainly, but not angry.

Dinner was a disaster, but perhaps he could still salvage the night.

“Molly, I’m sorry for ruining your birthday. I wanted everything to be perfect, especially after your last birthday….”

“Well, no one’s kidnapped you, so it’s already better than last year’s,” she teased with a giggle, poking him in the shoulder.

“ _Attempted_ to kidnap me, Molly. The effort was unsuccessful.”

“Thankfully,” she whispered, snuggling closer to him. “I don’t know what I would have done if they had succeeded.” She breathed in deeply, enjoying the cool night air. “Now, if you _really_ want to make this year special, maybe you should ask me that question you were going to earlier. Before… you know…,” she finished rather lamely.

“Ah, yes. _That_ question.” He grinned at her and her left hand in his. “Molly Hooper, will you….” He reached into his coat pocket, only to come back empty-handed.

This didn’t make any sense. He had double-checked that he had the ring this morning. He had been practicing his proposal in front of the mirror, and the ring box was sitting on the vanity beside him… where he had left it in his haste to bring Molly lunch.

Oh for the love of….


End file.
